


Warriors

by ELC01



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ELC01/pseuds/ELC01
Summary: To the new team doctor for the Scottish rugby team, the irresistible deputy captain should probably be off limits.





	Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Regrettably, I have no rights to Outlander, Claire, Jamie, or any other associated characters, in any of their forms... Just a fan, inspired to borrow them for a short while.  
> Any mistakes are my own.  
> Thank you for reading. As ever, any thoughts and feedback are always gratefully received!

Claire blinked her eyes to adjust to the changing light. Emerging from the relative gloom of the tunnel out on to the pitch was eye-opening to say the least. She stepped cautiously on to the hallowed turf and turned in a slow circle, looking up and around in awe.  
Even empty and, for once, bathed in rare glorious sunshine, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She could practically hear the clattering of cleated boots, the thundering call of the anthems, the shrill call of the whistle, the bellows from the sideline, the sudden revered silence preceding the thwack of leather boot against ball, the resounding roar of tens of thousand ardent fans - all echoing around the famous stands. An excited shiver ran up her spine at the prospect of seeing it in full flux on game day.  
She allowed herself a moment of bittersweet reflection thinking what her rugby-mad dad would have made of her on this turf, working with this elite team.  
Well, this was her game day. She whispered to herself, ‘Time to lace up those boots, Beauchamp.’

‘Ah, Lady Jane, there you are!’  
She heard Joe’s Boston twang echo out from the tunnel, turning just in time to see him emerge from its mouth with a broad grin across his face.  
‘Joe!’ She stepped off the grass and into his arms in a tight hug.  
‘Sorry, doll. I was called to the gym for an emergency assessment.’  
She brushed off his apology with a wave of her hand, straight into medical mode. ‘What happened? Who was it? Everything ok?’  
‘Oh, no biggie. Just Rupert, resident clown and loosehead prop, prioritising laughs over cautious recovery from a torn bicep. He’ll learn, one day!’ Joe set her at ease. He reached an arm out and beckoned her, ‘Come, let me give you the grand tour! We’ve an hour or so before the next scheduled appointment.’

To start, he’d made a beeline for the medical pit at the sideline - her new home, he jested. From there, he led her up through the tiers of the stands, though the VIP boxes, explaining that whilst their focus was on the players, on occasion the support medical team and first aiders might ask for their consultation on injured supporters, so it was important to learn her way around and know the shortcuts to be able to cut through the crowds when needed. From there, they headed in, clocking facilities on their way through the bars and kitchens. Joe, warm as ever, made a point to introduce her by name to every member of staff they passed, from groundsmen to security, kitchen porters to Colum’s secretary.  
Along the way, he gave her a running commentary on the ins and outs of the running of the place - who’s who, processes, routines, you name it.  
After the store, passing by the management offices, they headed back down, into the beating heart of the club. To the warren of team meeting rooms and the changing rooms, through towards their domain - the suite of examination, treatment, physio and associated storage rooms.

On their way, Joe popped his head into the vast elite gym, raucous laughter ringing out even over the booming music and thumping weight racks. He couldn’t resist hurling an accusation at Rupert - said in jest, but evidently not far off the mark.  
Claire, kept her head down, feeling a wave of anxiety creeping over her. At how male-dominated her new work environment would be - the testosterone practically dripping off the walls, alpha males abounding. How would they react to her? Young, relatively inexperienced, scrawny, curly hair notoriously in a state of perpetual disarray... She so wanted her time here to be a success - to settle into her practise and experience teamship, ultimately longing for a sense of belonging, of family.  
She and Joe made quite the pair - long, lanky, decidedly unsporty, outlanders. About as far from the stereotype of rugby - and proud Scottish rugby, at that - as you could get. But they had a solid friendship and made a great team, they’d proved as much during their overlapping residencies.

She snapped herself from her swirling thoughts and lingering self-doubt as Joe paused again, now at the junction by the mouth of the tunnel. Home changing room, where they’d just passed, with the guest quarters opposite, and lodged neatly in between, ‘Our kingdom’, he stated with a flourish, eagerly opening the door and guiding her in.  
A central bank of desks - in the state of artful disorder she’d expect of any good medical professional - surrounded by smaller treatment rooms, with a break-out rest area at the back, complete with small kitchen and sofas. A whistle-stop tour of the rooms revealed the x-rays, scanners, diagnostics, beds, physio beds and assorted paraphernalia you’d expect of a set-up for elite athletes. The newness and quality of all the equipment was far superior to anything she’d seen at the city hospitals of her residency.  
The sight of the double doors to the ambulance loading bay had her swallowing a lump in her throat, a stark reminder of the high stakes of today’s professional game. The potential destruction in the wake of 15stone plus slabs of muscle crashing themselves into each other, for ninety minutes at a time, with minimal, if any, padding. They were trained how to take contact, how to fall, how to recover, fuelled and conditioned to the max, and wrapped in proverbial cotton wool outside of games and training, but still... Professional rugby was undoubtedly at the forefront of elite sports medicine.

Joe made a poor play of “clearing” a desk for her, but she was relieved to have somewhere to park her bags, and start making herself feel at home.  
He checked his watch. ‘Five minutes until my next appointment. Suggest you sit in?’  
‘Of course, who is it?’  
‘Ah, our illustrious deputy captain, Fraser.’  
Claire gulped. Jamie Fraser. Ascendent hero of Scottish rugby, the “King of Men”, no less. She’d only been in Glasgow a couple of weeks, but was conscious of having heard his name on the tongue of ardent fans, pub landlords and gushing radio DJs alike. Flaming haired, Viking-cheekboned, broad shouldered and kilted, he was even splashed across her box of porridge oats, for Christ’s sake!  
She snapped her focus back to Joe, blushing to realise how quickly her train of thought had wandered at the mere mention of his name.  
‘...Final head injury assessment after that brutal Spingboks game a few weeks back. Dougal’s made it more than clear he wants his powerhouse primed and ready for pre-season training next week. Oh and we need to keep an eye on his right shoulder too, old dislocation...’, he was interupted by a wrap of knuckles on the door.  
Claire turned and locked gazes with a set of dazzling baby blues peeking through a mop of auburn curls.


End file.
